Like Crazy
by Bad Company
Summary: Oneshot that precedes "Gets in Your Blood". Flashes of future and past.


**Like Crazy**

By Bad Company

**Disclaimer: **No copyright infringement intended. Title comes from the song "Crazy Girl" by the Eli Young Band. Any discrepancies or errors concerning outlaw MCs are strictly the author's fault.

**AN: **Juice/Ava oneshot that bridges some of the events between Happy's death and the beginning of "Gets in Your Blood".

…

**NOW**

"…the end."

Juice closed the book with a resounding _thump_, resting its spine against his knee. His ass had long since gone numb in the much-too-small wicker chair he'd pulled around to the side of the bed. And he was thoroughly fed up with princesses and enchanted animals, pumpkins that turned into carriages, dwarves and handsome goddamn princes, and on and on and _on_. But Lo had her stuffed rabbit Oatmeal in a chokehold, covers tucked up under her arms, brown eyes twinkling with that innocent excitement that only little girls possessed.

"Can you read me another one?" she asked, tilting her head and smiling a smile he always had trouble refusing. She looked so much like Ava sometimes it was scary. _Are you kidding? She gets that smile from you, _Ava always said. _You're the manipulative one, dude. _But really, she had zero powers of manipulation. She was just sweet. "Please, Daddy? One more?"

"That last one _was_ your one more."

"How 'bout _one more_ one more?"

"Lo," he chuckled, standing and sliding the book back onto the shelf behind him. "I'm all Cinderella'd out, doll. And you have school tomorrow. So…"

She frowned and hugged her rabbit even tighter. "Okay."

"Quilt?"

"Yes, please."

Two Christmases ago, Maggie had hand-stitched quilts for all three of the kids, incorporating scraps from their baby clothes and colored fabrics that she'd thought they would like. Lo's was folded up at the end of her bed, full of mint green and powder pink. Juice shook it out and spread it as best he could – he didn't have the magic touch with this kind of thing – but tucked it up under her chin; six and she still liked to be bundled up like a caterpillar when she went to bed. "Gimme a kiss." She smacked one against his cheek.

"Don't forget my nightlight," she reminded, sounding just a little bit scared.

"How could I forget that?" She had this obnoxiously sparkly pink unicorn nightlight plugged in beside her bed. She loved all things fantastic, his little girl. Mermaids, fairies, dragons – but only friendly ones, she always said – she had her mother's imagination.

He walked around and clicked on the light, its pink glow staining the cream carpet. "Okay," he ran through the mental list in his head. Bath: check. Teeth brushed: check. Story: check. Extra story: check. Nightlight: check. "You all set?"

Lo nodded, but her bottom lip was all puckered up like she could cry without much prompting. She had huge eyes and her sad puppy face wasn't a show, it just happened. "When's Mama comin' home?"

"In a little while." Juice sat down on the edge of the bed. "She's gotta be there for Grammy tonight, yeah?"

She nodded.

"You want me to have her come check on you when she gets home?"

Another nod. "Yes! And I'll stay awake and wait for her!"

He grinned. "Okay, well try to sleep if you can."

"But I can't!"

"We'll see." He kissed her forehead. "Love you."

"Love you too, Daddy."

He had the overhead light turned off and was pulling the door to – she had to have it halfway shut, not all the way closed, just enough light coming in and just enough noise from her brothers across the hall to comfort her as she fell asleep – was almost home free, when…

"Daddy?"

_You are so wrapped, _Maggie had told him with a laugh. And he was. He rested his head against the doorjamb and couldn't help but smile. "What, baby?"

"Just one more story?" she asked in a small voice.

He knew how much it bothered her when things weren't right. Ava always read her a story before bed, and the skip in the routine was unsettling, made her even more nervous than she always was about being alone and in the semi-dark. "One more," he conceded. "But a fast one. And then you gotta go to bed. Deal?"

"Deal." She sat up straighter against her pillows. "Tell me a real story."

"A real one? About what?"

"You and Mama. Was she like your princess?"

Juice went back to the wicker chair and sat down with a sigh, trying to decide how he could possibly spin this non-fairytale into something child-friendly. "Well, I guess you could say that…"

**THEN**

"No." Her hand was over her mouth. "No, no, no, no." He watched, helpless from across the room, his sweatshirt zipped up over the massive bloodstain on his t-shirt. He watched the pins and latches come loose in her mind, saw all her mental struts and supports obliterated by just two words. _He's dead. _And Juice saw Ava die in that moment too, knew her heart well enough to know that it shattered, and that the jagged pieces left her bloody on the inside. Her arm stole around her middle as her shoulders sagged. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, squealing. "No he's not!" she shrieked, aiming a finger at Jax. "Don't say that!"

"Ava, darlin'," the President sighed and tried to reach for her, laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. But she would have none of it, leapt violently away from him.

"NononononoNO!"

They had all expected tears, but none of them had expected this.

Chibs reached for his daughter and Juice watched, bile rising in the back of his throat, as she whirled around and struck at him. _Don't hurt her, _a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Because he could see in the wild flash of her eyes that Ava Rae as he knew her had evacuated the place that was too painful to be her head at the moment, and it was a frightened, uncomprehending animal that clawed at Chibs when he tried to pull her into a hug. She didn't make contact, Chibs recoiled in time, but Tig was behind her and caught both her arms in his hands: hands that looked big enough to snap her little limbs in two. She fought and swore and twisted, kicked. It was embarrassing and terrible to watch. And as he stood there, all Juice could smell was her dead Old Man's blood as it dried on the front of his t-shirt.

He hadn't even known a human had that much blood in their body, that's what he'd been thinking as the thick, warm, redness of it had come pouring between his fingers. He hadn't known how, but he'd been able to taste it. _It went through his lung_, he'd registered in a detached way, knowing it had to be true because Hap had been wheezing: thin little wet sounds like wind trying to ruffle a wet paper bag.

It hadn't been until Tig was pulling him away that he realized he'd been screaming the whole time. His throat had burned, still did, felt raw and red.

"Call Tara," Jax said. "She's gonna have to be sedated."

Juice's stomach clenched up and he stumbled backward away from the group. Made it outside under the pavilion before he curled over and heaved what was left of his breakfast onto the asphalt.

**NOW**

"Did you know you wanted to marry her when you very first met her?" Lo wanted to know. She was sitting up now, trying to hide a yawn behind Oatmeal as she cuddled the rabbit under her nose. She was obsessed with princes and princesses, the whole notion of love-at-first-sight and romantic things he'd just as soon his six-year-old not be aware of.

His smile went a little sideways. "I think that's a story for when you're older." Because like hell was he going to explain their sixteen year age difference.

"But when did you know?"

"Know what?"

"When you wanted to marry her."

**THEN**

The sound of a car door made him jump. Before logic took over, he'd covered his head with an arm, imagining another gunshot, saw blood behind his eyes. And then he felt utter, devastating embarrassment closing up his throat until he felt like he might almost…

No. Don't go there.

Tara was walking away from her Yukon toward the clubhouse, medical bag slung over her shoulder. She paused and regarded him a moment with that detached, professional look of hers. He thought her eyes seemed a little overly large, but that was the only sign she understood or had an opinion about any of this. Juice wished he was like that. He knew his own eyes were all wet and red, that he was pale and shivering. He wished for just a smidge of that calm she was exuding. "Is she inside?"

He glanced down at his boots. There was blood on them. "Yeah."

Inside where Tig – or whoever – was wrestling with her like she was some drunk crow eater who'd taken a swing at an Old Lady. It was worse for her, he reminded himself. He was sick, literally, but Ava had just lost the love of her life.

"I don't wanna see her like this," he justified in a hoarse whisper to the empty air around him. He shook his head. "I can't…can't," sighed ", back out on her." He stood, took a deep breath to make sure he was done puking, and went back in the clubhouse.

Ava was on the couch, Tara on one side of her, her mother on the opposite, and even from a distance, Juice could see the blood trickling down her arm from the juncture of her elbow. The doc pulled a cotton swab out of her bag to staunch the flow, but not before he saw the syringe get stowed away. She'd been so resistant…and Tara was only so strong, couldn't have helped it…but there was already a bruise forming. Like she'd been stabbed with the needle. And had continued to struggle while it was buried beneath her skin.

_You can't say 'no' t that one. She gets in your blood._

"Shit," he murmured. This wasn't right, wasn't what Hap would have wanted, wasn't what Ava herself would have wanted had she been conscious enough to protest anything.

Someone stepped in front of him, obscuring his view. A hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. "Go get cleaned up, Juicy-boy," Chibs said. "Have a drink. Somethin'."

He felt like the biggest pussy in the world. Some scared, helpless little boy playing at being a man who had no control over his own emotions. "But I'm supposed -,"

"Later. Her mum and I are gonna take her home. You're no help to her right now anyway."

He bowed his head, saw the blood on his shirt peeking out of his hoodie and zipped the sweatshirt up to his chin. "Yeah. Okay."

**NOW**

"Go to sleep, Lolita." Juice tucked her in again, ruffled her thick tangle of black hair until she scrunched up her nose in protest. "For real this time."

She yawned. "I'm not sleepy."

"Close your eyes and it'll happen," he assured, dropping another kiss on her forehead. "Night."

"Night, Daddy. Don't forget to have Mama check on me."

He had the distinct impression that she'd come find him in about fifteen minutes, tears in her big eyes, dragging Oatmeal along with a tale about another nightmare. Jokingly, he said Race and Lo's ultra sensitivity had come from Ava, but really, he knew his own genetics were to blame.

**THEN**

The sun was magenta as it peeked from behind the clouds. Half a breath past dawn and he was walking up the back steps of the little grey ranch Hap had bought for his Old Lady. Maggie's black CTS was in the drive, covered in dew. Hap's bike was under the carport next to the truck because someone, probably Tig, had brought it home. Juice shuddered as he rapped on one of the glass panes set in the door, and only partly because of the cold.

Maggie must have already been up because she opened the door in a matter of seconds, a steaming mug in one hand. She didn't have her makeup on yet – something he wasn't sure he'd ever seen – and her hair was done up in a messy bun. Her eyes were bloodshot. And the way her face fell, he figured she'd been expecting Chibs instead. "Oh…Juice."

He shuffled his feet on the top step. "Yeah."

She opened the door and stepped back into the kitchen without any further greeting. He guessed he didn't blame her: she was clearly fried.

The kitchen was a snapshot of the day before. Two clean breakfast dishes still on the drying rack. A half-finished to-do list by the phone. A bottle of maple syrup on the counter. Ava's little slip-on sneakers kicked off under the table. Time, and her life, had come to a screeching halt when Jax had called her to come to the clubhouse.

Maggie leaned back against the counter and took a sip of her coffee, pulling the halves of her long sweater together. She stared down at her bare feet and Juice thought it must be the most disheveled he'd ever seen her. Not physically, but emotionally. Like her first cousin, she always had something to say, some order to give. She was at a loss. Which made him twitchy.

"How, um," he licked dry lips ", how is she today?"

"Still asleep." Maggie didn't look up. Took another sip of coffee. "Tara said she could come by on her way to work and…_sedate_ her again, if she needed to."

He hated the memory of the blood trickling down her arm. Hated that such a vibrant, hot-blooded girl had been drugged into a comatose state. It felt against the laws of nature. However she wanted to grieve for the man who'd been her whole world, she should be allowed to. No drugs, no hands pinning her down. Let her cry and scream and throw things if she needed to.

"I know," Maggie said on a shaky breath ", that Hap wanted you to step in. And I get that." Her voice became brittle, angry. "It was his right as her Old Man." Her head turned slowly, like it weighed a hundred pounds, and her hazel eyes glittered with unshed tears when they latched onto his. "But Juice, this isn't a matter of keeping the grass cut. This is deep, dark shit. Yesterday…sweetheart, if you're gonna get sucked into this, get in further than you want to go, it's okay to back out. I want you to, in fact. She's my child, and I can grieve with her, be there for her."

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He started to protest, pulled in a deep breath…and then let it out in a rush. What could he say? Tell her about the two of them fooling around? About fondling her underage daughter? That he…

No. He couldn't do any of that.

"Okay."

The morning felt twice as cold when he stepped back out into it.

**-O-**

The next day was the funeral and Juice was trying not to think about it. Which of course did not explain why he'd left the crowded, smoky clubhouse full of out-of-town brothers all celebrating Hap for the empty parking lot where nothing was celebratory whatsoever. Chibs had tried to include him in the festivities: shoulder slugs and lots of "Juicy-boy"s and tequila shots. The Scot was now showing obvious concern for the way he was shutting down, tuning everything out around him. But it wasn't helping. There was no cure for guilt. The girl he'd been seeing, Sarah, had stopped reaching out to him after their last phone conversation: he'd been ruder than he'd ever thought possible.

_Promise me_, Had had said, and so far he'd done nothing but sit, brood, and wish he had the balls to fulfill that promise.

His phone trilled in his pocket and he was surprised to recognize Maggie's number. "Yeah?"

"Oh thank God." She sounded like she'd been crying. "Shit, Juice, Chibs won't answer his phone and I just need some help."

He covered the ten minutes to Ava's place in three, half astonished Hale hadn't been out prowling in his Bronco, looking to pull over drunken bikers. But he wasn't about to question this one streak of luck. He was stuffing his gloves in the pockets of his cut as he took the back steps in a single leap. The door was open a crack – and it shouldn't have been – and he quickly realized why when he pushed it wide and stepped into the kitchen.

Maggie and Tara were both crouched down on the far side of the table, the doc's jacket in a puddle by the open door like she'd been walking in when whatever had happened to Ava had happened. He saw her bare feet and her legs on the floor and his heart rate went into double time. Maggie was crouched over her, murmuring her name repeatedly. As Juice walked around the table she saw that the girl's eyes were shut, her head lolled, lifeless, to the side.

He sucked in a breath. "Is she…?"

"She fainted," Tara said, casting a glance over her shoulder. Though she'd been so composed at the clubhouse that day, she looked rattled now. "I thought maybe she was having a seizure, or…" she let the possibilities hang. "Can you help us get her up?"

"Yeah."

Maggie seemed reluctant to move away, but she finally did, giving him room to crouch down beside her daughter. Ever so carefully, because she looked positively breakable, he slid a hand up under her shoulders and one beneath her knees. Her skin was clammy and it wasn't hard to envision that she might be…

No, don't think that.

Even as "dead" weight, she didn't weigh much, and he scooped her up against his chest, wincing as her feet banged against the back of one of the chairs. She stirred, sucked in a deep breath and came to life in his arms as he carried her back toward the bedroom, the other two Old Ladies on his heels.

"Put her on the bed," Tara instructed, "and I'll dose her again."

"Dose her with what?" he paused, heard the edge to his voice and didn't care. "She passed the fuck out and you wanna drug her up again?"

The doctor gave him an exasperated look. "Just a muscle relaxer. I need to draw some blood, see if I can't sneak it into the goddamn lab at St. Thomas." She massaged her forehead between her brows and sighed, which made him feel guilty. She was just as frustrated as the rest of them, she just didn't express it the same way.

"Okay."

But Ava's hand clasped onto the front of his shirt as he started to lower her down onto the mattress. Her eyes flipped open and the fear in them, the animalistic terror, shook him up hard. "What happened?" she asked, and he didn't know if she was referring to her episode in the kitchen, or if she was going all the way back to the afternoon that Hap had died.

"You're fine," he told her, settling her amongst the sheets, her head on the pillow.

She didn't protest when Tara gave her the injection, and afterward, she rolled onto her side, curled up into a ball and stared at all of them. "What happened?" she repeated, voice firmer than it had been.

"You passed out," Tara told her.

Maggie stood with her arms folded, holding herself.

"Oh," Ava blinked. "Okay." Sleep claimed her only moments later, and Juice released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

He felt a touch at his arm and it was Maggie, offering a tremulous smile. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry we pulled you away from the party just for this but -,"

"The party sucked."

She conceded with a tilt of her head. "Still, thanks." Her eyes flicked to the door and he knew that was his cue to leave. She wasn't going to say it aloud like she had last time, but clearly, she thought it was time he slipped away gracefully.

Well _fuck that_.

"I'll hang out," he told her. "Crash on the couch…you know, in case you need my help again."

She pursed her lips, but nodded. This time, when she said, "thanks," it wasn't so thankful.

**-O-**

"No one's ever done this in SAMCRO," Jax said from the head of the table. "Other charters, sure, but no Old Lady in Charming has ever been willed to a brother."

Juice didn't comment, didn't nod, because he knew that already. He stared at the grooves and stripes that made up the grain pattern in the redwood table, noting the way some of the thick dark streaks resembled the blue veins that stood out beneath the skin of Ava's wrists and ankles. She was falling apart, giving up, letting herself just fade away into nothing.

"Hap asked," Jax continued ", that in the event of his death, Ava pass to Juice."

"_You don't have to take care of me," _she'd said from the bathroom rug the night before. But later, when the house was bathed in darkness, she'd come into the living room as robotic and unaware as a zombie, and had crawled beneath the blankets of his makeshift bed on the couch, curling up on top of him like a cat before drifting off to a fitful sleep full of whimpers.

Chibs cleared his throat loudly. "We all know this is a bad decision to be makin', Juicy-boy," he said, like he was apologetic. "And Ava…this shouldn't fall on you." _This. _Not _her_, but _this_. They didn't any of them know, or even suspect he guessed, what Hap had known. "Her mum and I'll take care of her. She can move back in and -,"

"She won't leave the house," Juice interrupted him, not caring that his face was screwed up in a nasty expression. The Scot looked a bit surprised. "She won't move back in with you."

"Juice, we can't make you take her on as your Old Lady. You can refuse. It was just his request," Jax said, impatient.

They thought she was getting to him, that her crazy was starting to make him crazy. He wasn't thinking rationally, because why would anyone willingly continue to deal with Ava Telford unless it was mandatory?

"I'm giving you an out."

But he didn't really want one. He couldn't save Hap, so now it was his turn to save Ava. He owed her that. Because of guilt, yes, but also because…

"Do you want her to be your Old Lady?"

…he'd been in love with her for years.

"Yes."

They hadn't expected that, he could tell from their faces, the way Tig's eyebrows were jumping up and down, the way Opie scratched at his head through his beanie.

Even Jax was silent a moment. "A'ight. We all recognize. Until you tell us otherwise." He tapped the gavel and chairs scraped back.

Chibs remained seated, though, staring at him. Juice folded his hands on the table and rested his chin on top of them. He was so goddamn tired. When he did manage a few minutes' sleep, it was plagued by nightmares of Happy – of whatever he'd become upon death coming back to tear him to shreds because he'd changed his mind about that whole "take care of my girl" business. And when he was awake, he was worried about that girl in an unhealthy way that bordered on obsession. He didn't understand how, times like the night before, the vacant waif she'd become made him so hard he was afraid she'd feel it and go staggered out of bed, scratch at him and call him a pervert. Whatever. Maybe he was. Maybe he'd lost his damn mind.

"Juice." He realized he'd closed his eyes and opened them again. Chibs looked more sympathetic than anything. For some reason, he'd expected a punch in the face. Maybe if the Scot knew about that shower he'd helped her take, the places his mind had gone while he'd watched the water run down her skin, he'd be rearing his fist back. But instead, he said, "She's not your responsibility."

"_You don't have to take care of me."_

But oh yes he did. And it had jack shit to do with Hap anymore. "Yes she is." And shut his eyes again.

**NOW**

Every time he heard her pull into the drive, that diesel engine growling, he thought he probably should have brought home that Volvo station wagon from the police auction. But Ava loved her F250, and he liked his family in a tank, the safety it provided them.

Juice checked the time on his monitor – 1:11 – and stuffed the last bite of the cookies he probably wasn't supposed to be eating into his mouth as he heard the garage door rattle down and Ava come in through the workshop. He shut down his computer and crossed the hall into the kitchen. She was undoing her braid, massaging her scalp and failing to stifle a yawn. Her eyes had dark circles under them, but they were dry: she hadn't cried…yet.

She was a little out of it, because she jerked when he touched her elbow. Then she shook her head, chastising herself. "Hi, baby." Her voice wasn't too different from Lo's sad "night, Daddy" a few hours before. Ava stepped up to his offered hug and slid her arms tight around his waist, tucking her face in at the base of his throat and taking a deep, grateful breath.

He returned her embrace, rested his chin on the top of her head. "How bad was it?"

"Terrible." She squeezed him. "Gram wasn't herself at the end…she and Mom fought. It was so ugly. Old shit got brought up, about the club and Dad and…"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you too a little bit. Mom felt so guilty, kept trying to say she'd caused her mother to die miserable."

"Mags couldn't have believed that," he stroked a hand down the back of her head and her sleek hair. "It was the dementia talking."

"I know that, and you know that." She pulled away from him and sighed again, shook her head. "But Mom, well, there's some repressed issues there. And of course you know, Dad didn't help. 'It ain't you, luv. You know your mum was always loony'," she mimicked his Scottish brogue alarmingly well.

Juice had to chuckle. "He's graceful, I'll give him that."

Ava twitched a tired smile. "At least it made her laugh." The kitchen was still spotless from her post-dinner cleanup, but she picked up the dishcloth beside the sink and wiped down the granite one last time. Three kids could have easily overrun the house and left it in a constant state of disarray, but by the time Lo had come along, she'd developed OCD tendencies to rival his own. Watching her – the house keeping and cooking and MC party hosting, constant exercise that kept her lithe body tight even after three babies, and the five thousand words a day she cranked out on her laptop – exhausted him. And made him proud beyond measure. She'd turned into the woman he always knew she could be, but no one else had believed was possible.

"Funeral's this weekend," she said, emotion creeping into her voice for the first time. Her eyes were dry though, when she glanced over at him and smiled again. "What are the odds Race hasn't turned his good shoes into moon boots again?"

"Pretty bad – he was wearing them this afternoon."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright," the cloth was folded and replaced. "The tub is calling my name. You wanna join me?"

"Yeah, about that…"

She arched a single brow and then led the way through the living room, down the hall and to the master where Lo was asleep in the middle of their bed. Ava's smile could have melted an iceberg. "I come home late_ one_ night and you've got another girl in bed," but she turned around and flashed the smile toward him.

Everyone had called him an idiot, said he was crazy to take on what Hap had left behind. And now none of those nay-sayers had that "psycho bitch" sliding her arms around their necks , had her body pressed against theirs. They weren't the recipients of this amazing smile, because the flipside of the darkness, the swirling grief and depression that had almost pulled her under, was absolute radiance. She sunk her teeth into life and bit down to the bone. _You saved me_, she'd told him once, and she never stopped repaying him for that. And now all his brothers who'd shaken their heads and clucked their tongues asked if they could come over on Sundays for pot roast. When Lo kissed him goodnight and said "love you, Daddy", when Race said something completely inappropriate, when Sam asked for his advice, he was reaffirmed in his decision to step up to the plate: to spend nights on the couch and carry a broken-hearted girl to her bedroom.

"Rain check on the bath," Ava said, pressing a kiss to his lips. A flicker of sadness ran across her face. She wasn't going to let it break through the surface, but inside, she was just as sad and guilty about her grandmother as Mags. Her heart was tender, and even if others thought her weak for it, he thought it was sweet.

"Absolutely."

He never told her, afraid it would go to her head, but Lo had been right, she really was his princess. And he loved her like crazy. Sane was totally overrated anyway.

**The End**


End file.
